


this sweet sensation

by atomjenkins



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Touch-Starved Akechi Goro, hairdresser au, it started as an au then turned into lord knows what, kind of spoilers i guess for vanilla p5? vaguely?? kind of???, self indulgent fic is self indulgent, shuake, this started as just a dumb thing and turned into a long dumb thing im sorry, weird hairdresser au idk, why is he called akira rather than ren in this? who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomjenkins/pseuds/atomjenkins
Summary: Goro Akechi needs a haircut. Luckily he's been recommended an interesting-looking salon and has an appointment booked with a certain frizzy-haired employee.---weird self indulgent fic lol - hairdresser au? idk
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 107





	this sweet sensation

**Author's Note:**

> this started as just 'oh, how about i write a cute thing where akiren washes / plays with akechi's hair and gives him a lil head massage' and devolved into whatever this is. i guess alternate universe? kind of?? pls don't judge me for this idk

The cold wind whipped and bit at his skin as he hurried along the side of the road, keen to escape the freezing air. In a way, he was thankful for it – the dismal weather meant there was barely anyone out on the streets, and the few that had decided to brave the cold were also in a rush to get to wherever they were going, far too preoccupied to wonder why the famed Detective Prince Goro Akechi was out and about at this time of evening.

With shaking hands he fumbled for his phone to double check the address he was looking for, before ducking into a narrow alleyway, grateful for the shelter from the glacial breeze. The cold nipped at him even through the fabric of his gloves, but he managed to find the address and began quickly striding down the alley, searching for his destination. He supposed it was really his own fault he was out here – he’d insisted upon an evening appointment due to his busy schedule, and how was he to know the weather would be so awful?

Finally he found the place he was looking for – a cosy-looking building squashed between two others, looking a little out of place. The décor on the outside was perhaps a bit garish – red stars of varying sizes splattered against black bricks, a red top hat perched atop a traditional barber’s pole – but the cool blue glow spilling from the interior onto the dark street looked inviting. Glancing inside he saw only one person – a boy around his age, perhaps a bit younger, with a frizzy mop of black hair and intense grey eyes framed with glasses, leaning against the reception counter and absentmindedly twirling a pen between his fingers. He supposed that meant the boy must be an employee – ah, looking closer it seemed like the boy was wearing a black shirt with a little red top hat logo embroidered onto a chest pocket, that must be some kind of uniform.

As Akechi opened the door, a soft bell rang to signify his entrance. Stepping inside and shivering slightly, he glanced around, taking the place in. It was actually warmer than the pale blue lighting had implied, and the quiet tinkling of a piano soundtrack played in the background – the same black and red starry motif persisted in here; with glossy furniture and squashy, comfortable-looking chairs connected by smatterings of red stars which trailed over the polished dark floorboards and exposed brick walls. As his eyes wandered around the room, following the painted red lines, the employee looked over towards him, straightening up with a smile on his face.

“My apologies for being late.” Akechi said, somewhat muffled as he pulled down the scarf he’d tucked around his face once his cheeks had started to sting from the cold. “Sorry, you are…still open, aren’t you?” He glanced around again, suddenly a little unsure of himself. He knew he’d booked an appointment, but he hadn’t quite realised just how empty the place was, just him and this one employee. Well, he supposed not many people came for late night haircuts.

“You’re fine.” The employee said, with a warm smile. “Honestly, it’s an honour to have you here, no matter what time you turned up.”

Akechi felt some heat rise to his cheeks under the employee’s intense gaze. “U-Um, well, that’s…very kind of you. Um…you are…?”

“Oh!” It was the employee’s turn to blush. “Sorry, that was rude of me. My name’s Akira Kurusu.”

“It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Goro Akechi.”

“Obviously.” He flashed another grin at Akechi before he took out a notepad and began to browse through it, idly flipping through pages. “We don’t normally get celebrities coming here.”

“It was…a recommendation from a colleague.” That was true enough. He’d been meaning to get his hair cut for a while now but his busy schedule meant he’d not found the time, and he’d been put off the whole thing when his usual salon had boasted about his previous appointments there to the media, so now the place was swarming with paparazzi. The last thing he wanted was to appear in some fashion magazine – or even worse, for some deranged employee to try to collect his hair or something – but he must have complained about it within earshot of Sae-san, because a business card for The Phantom Salon had appeared on his desk the next day with a post-it note just beneath it reading; ‘Trust me, they’re good people, and flexible with appointments. Plus, you like cats, right?’

And so here he was in the salon in the late evening, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and the claustrophobic stress of his work. And yet a strange, unfamiliar feeling was building in his chest as Akira’s eyes glanced up to meet his.

“So what can I do for you today?” Akira said, snapping Akechi to attention.

“Oh…oh! Just a slight trim, please.”

“No problem.” Akira said, snapping the book shut. “Right this way.”

Akira led Akechi over to one of the shiny red chairs, offering to take his coat and fix him a drink before he sat Akechi down in front of a large mirror rimmed with lights – not too dissimilar to the mirrors Akechi found himself in front of before an interview or television appearance. He had to admit, though, the gentle piano music and quiet, comfortable atmosphere of this place was much more preferable to the harsh glare of spotlights he was accustomed to – the loud cacophony of manic activity, the mad rush to slather him in make-up so he was ready for the cameras. The only small mercy was that he could switch his brain off while people poked and prodded and powdered his face and pulled at his hair and polished him to perfection, too caught up in deadlines and details to try to talk to him. And all the actual interviews were the same, he needed only to slightly vary his answers and the crowds and cameras lapped it up each and every time. All his interview preparation boiled down to rehearsing the same perfectly-phrased, crowd-pleasing statements, the same small sweet smile and slight flick of his hair, day after day. It would be embarrassing to think about if it weren’t so convenient. But convenience hardly made for excitement.

A meow from somewhere below Akechi suddenly startled him out of his train of thought. Before he could even look down, something small and dark and furry had leapt onto him, instinctively making him yelp in panic. The small dark furry thing – a cat, closer inspection revealed – looked at him bemusedly with bright blue eyes, before settling down in his lap. Akechi had only a moment to twig that Sae had mentioned something about cats in her note before he heard Akira rushing towards him.

“ _Morgana!_ Bad kitty!” Akira hissed, and the cat seemed to give Akechi a knowing, playful look before bounding off his lap and slinking behind some furniture, just as Akira reached the chair where Akechi sat. “I swear…I’m so sorry about him. Thinks he owns the place.” Akira sighed. There was a meow in response, which elicited a smirk from Akira. “Yes, I’m talking about you, stupid cat.” He said, with no real venom behind his words. Another meow, before the cat slunk out from his hiding place and settled for curling up in the shop window.

Akira gave a fond chuckle before turning back to Akechi. “Ah, sorry. Oh! Your coffee.” He handed Akechi a steaming mug with a rich, delicious smell wafting from it, which Akechi gladly accepted, drawing the warm mug close to him and cupping it with both hands. Akechi wasn’t really a fan of coffee – most of the time he only drank it out of necessity to either fuel himself through some dull task or to more easily fit in with adults – but the promise of a homemade brew as opposed to an instant packet intrigued him. Once he’d taken a sip – the intense coffee flavour pleasantly enhanced by subtle tones of fruits and spices – he was pleased with his decision.

“Mm, thank you, this is lovely.” He said, smiling at the slight pink dusting on Akira’s cheeks as he said that. “And don’t worry, I was warned in advance about the fact that there are cats here.” He paused, then raised his voice slightly, looking over towards the shop window where Morgana lay. “I’m actually a bit of a cat person, so I don’t have any objections if – Morgana, was it? – wanted to sit on my lap.” The sight of Morgana’s ears pricking up slightly was surprisingly rewarding.

Akira chuckled again. “You’re in for it now.” He teased, before stepping behind the chair and meeting Akechi’s eyes in the mirror. “So, you just wanted a trim, right? Any particular styles you’re going for?”

“Oh! Erm…” He floundered a bit. He wasn’t really knowledgeable about hairstyles, given he normally just went along with whatever the hairstylists at whichever studio he was at that day did, and none of them did anything too wild with his hair anyway.

“Or maybe…a certain length you’re going for?” Akira’s tone was gentle, patient.

“Um…perhaps…here?” He gestured to his chin. “That sort of length? Uh…I don’t know if you’ve seen me on television before…” He searched Akira for a response, feeling idiotic. He was aware that people used celebrities as references for their own hairstyles, but he doubted many used a celebrity that also happened to be themselves. Akira gave a little nod at his questioning statement and didn’t look too judgemental, so he continued. “…but um, when I appeared on _Good Morning Japan_ a couple of years ago, uh…I think December, it was when I was just starting out…that’s what I’m…going for?” He said uncertainly, suddenly exponentially more grateful for the lack of other customers – the less people hearing him bumbling moronically through this conversation, the better.

Akira nodded. “I think I know the one you mean.” He whipped out a smartphone and browsed for a brief moment, before showing Akechi a paused video of the interview in question. “Like this?” He asked, handing Akechi the phone. A slightly younger version of himself beamed back at Akechi – ah, he hadn’t quite perfected his smile by this point in time, he noticed. Slightly too wide, baring just too many teeth – perhaps not noticeable to the general public, but Akechi certainly noticed how much his cheeks ached after hours of non-stop smiling. So over time he’d made it smaller, subtler, slyer, and his mouth muscles were grateful for it. Oh wait, he was supposed to be looking at his hair. The bright yellow lights of the studio highlighted his hair in such a way that it looked like a strange golden glow framing his face, almost halo-like, which was quite laughable. In fact he looked altogether too innocent and childlike in this picture in a way he frustratingly couldn’t explain, he just looked…softer, his hair fluffier and his face less sharp and angular, less closed off and more casual in his pose. And that smile…

Frowning, Akechi returned the phone to Akira, who looked at him somewhat expectantly. Oh, right. Akechi nodded to confirm that sort of length was acceptable, grateful that Akira had quickly adapted to Akechi’s lack of preparedness. Akira seemed to study the image for a moment, before saying; “I guess you’ve got to maintain a certain image, right?”

Akechi hadn’t really been expecting that. “Well…yes, I suppose so. It might create some uproar in my fanbase if I grew my hair out too long, or cut it much shorter.” He said, internally cringing at how easily he’d slipped into his usual Detective Prince ‘television tone’ to answer that question. “There’s…expectations of me, I suppose.” He said, sounding somewhat more weary than intended.

“Kinda sad, in a way.” Akira said thoughtfully, and Akechi wondered if he had been meant to hear Akira say that. Akira then drew out some strands of Akechi’s hair – not roughly or forcefully like Akechi was used to, his movements were slow and gentle – looking at them contemplatively. Akechi guessed he was probably trying to see how Akechi would suit the new length, so he tried to remain as still as possible as Akira studied him in silence for a moment.

“You have really nice hair.” Akira said after a while, his eyes meeting Akechi’s reflection again. Akechi could only hold his gaze for a moment before he felt his cheeks beginning to burn up and he had to glance away.

“Th-Thank you…” he replied.

Akira smiled. “It’s a shame you can’t grow it out more, it would really suit you. Especially in a ponytail or bun or something? Ah, but…I wouldn’t want to upset your fans!” Akira declared with a cheeky grin, letting Akechi’s hair fall back into place, the strange intensity of the moment completely evaporating. “Okay, so I’ll just give your hair a wash, then trim, then dry it off for you, that all sound good?”

Akechi nodded, still unable to meet Akira’s gaze. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Rightio, just step this way.” Akira guided him out of his seat and directed him over to a row of more reclined chairs, each with a basin behind it. Situated behind the basins was a large shelf, packed with a colourful rainbow-like display of hair product bottles of all shapes and sizes – a full spectrum of scents and aromas, from scarlet bottles of raspberry and strawberry through lemon, lime and vanilla, all the way to dark bottles of charcoal and caviar oil infused shampoos which Akechi doubted had been opened and sincerely hoped they weren’t about to be.

Akechi sat himself down in one of the chairs and Akira draped a soft shawl over his shoulders, clipping it together behind his back. Akechi heard him bustling about a bit before he gestured for Akechi to lean back. Akechi did so, expecting his neck to meet the hard edge of the basin, but was pleasantly surprised by the towel that pillowed his neck and head as he reclined. Scents of lavender and coffee wafted over him as he felt some soft tugging at his scalp. Akira had begun brushing through his hair, probably to sort through any knots or tangles – not that Akechi had any – but the feeling of the bristles scratching lightly against his scalp was quite enjoyable.

A moment later, warm water began to cascade down his hair – Akira checked he was alright with the temperature – and Akechi found himself starting to relax, the warm rush of the water and the calming ambience easing him into a contented state for a moment before he seized up when he felt fingers in his hair, a shiver rushing down his spine.

Akira hesitated, before continuing; slowly, he trailed his fingers down Akechi’s scalp, rubbing his skin gently, before pulling back and running his fingers through Akechi’s wet hair. The pause he left seemed to be a question – a question of whether Akechi was happy for this to continue.

Akechi found himself strangely breathless – his heart pounding so loudly he felt it would burst out of his ribcage and his skin tingling like he had goosebumps all over, despite the warmth in here – this dizzying feeling wasn’t something he felt familiar with but it was something he was sure he could become quite easily addicted to. He felt himself relax and sink into the chair, his eyes slipping shut slightly – Akira took that as a sign to continue.

His gentle rubs became a little firmer, the massaging of Akechi’s scalp a little more intense. His hands briefly left for a moment to rub some shampoo in, and then a sweet hazy smell was everywhere around Akechi – he idly picked up on vanilla, and something underlying it, something sharp, some kind of berry perhaps…and notes of something herbal, but he couldn’t quite identify what…his brain was becoming fuzzier and foggier as the scents washed over him like water; he sank into them without even thinking. The only thing tethering him to reality was the sensation of Akira’s skin against his – Akira carded his hands through Akechi’s hair again before more intensely kneading at his scalp, head and neck, frothing up the shampoo into a rich foamy lather. The heat of the water was back, seeping into the tense muscles of his head and neck, making them tingle pleasantly with warmth. He felt Akira begin combing through his hair again, carefully squeezing soapy strands as he soaked them with water with one hand, and gently cupping just above Akechi’s forehead with the other hand to prevent water or shampoo getting in his eyes. Once that was done, Akira began massaging his head again with some kind of oily product on his hands – in his state, Akechi could just about identify something vaguely nutty mixed with something light and sweet…was that coconut? – now moving more slowly and scratching lightly with his nails against Akechi’s scalp and neck, digging at spots behind his ears and at his nape – it took a considerable amount of effort not to let out an embarrassing noise as a blissful, soothing feeling of relaxation began spreading through his body – his limbs growing heavier and his mind growing cloudier. The soft plinks of piano keys, the cloud of sweet aromas hanging over him, Akira’s calming motions allaying his thoughts of stress and anxiety, how easy would it be to just…

His eyes dared to crack open, as if in rebellion against him for being too relaxed. Relaxed meant vulnerable, that was hardly something he could afford to be. Not to mention it was just plain embarrassing for his composure to collapse so completely in front of a total stranger. He glanced up at Akira, who seemed to be deep in concentration, his hands still gently stroking through Akechi’s hair – when he noticed Akechi watching him, he gave a warm smile down at the other boy.

“Did you enjoy that?” He asked, with a slightly smug edge to his tone.

Akechi didn’t dare speak for fear of sounding slurred or something humiliating like that, so he nodded. That wasn’t a lie, after all.

Akira chuckled, carefully removing his hands from Akechi’s scalp. “Most people do.” He switched on the water again. “Last little bit, then we’ll be back over there.” He gestured to the seat in front of the mirror, then began washing the oils out of Akechi’s hair. His movements as he brushed his fingers through Akechi’s hair were faster but no less gentle, finishing by squeezing all the water out and firmly but not too forcefully drying it off with a few ruffles of the towel, which he wrapped around in a strange, almost hat-like way around Akechi’s head.

“Very stylish.” Akira assured, watching with an amused expression as Akechi prodded it quizzically. “Don’t fiddle with it too much, it’s not staying on for long.” He said, guiding Akechi back over to the chair in front of the mirror. “Just one moment while I get my things. Beware of the inevitable cat.” He warned with a conspiratorial tone, pushing his glasses up his nose, making the lenses flash in the blue light. He disappeared into the back of the salon for a moment, and it wasn’t too long after he was gone that Morgana reappeared, dumping himself down on Akechi’s lap again with a satisfied-sounding meow. Akechi smiled and began stroking the little cat – who purred delightedly at the attention – idly taking in the details of the place he’d not noticed until now.

Pinned on the mirror in front of him was a photograph of a group of people – including Akira, in more casual-looking clothes, without his glasses, and with Morgana unmistakably perched on his shoulder. He was at the centre of the photo, surrounded by an eclectic looking group of people – a blonde boy in brightly coloured clothing had his arm slung around Akira as well as around a stylish blonde girl with bushy pigtails; a thin, tall boy in cool-toned clothes had his head tilted thoughtfully towards the camera while a small ginger haired girl with glasses stood next to him, cross-eyed and with her tongue sticking out; a girl with fluffy hair and pastel clothing smiled sweetly at the camera next to a smartly dressed dark-haired girl who was looking at the other people in the photo with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

Another, smaller photograph was tucked into the frame, this time of just a small group – Akira, Morgana, the ginger girl, and an older looking man, sage eyes looking out from behind semi-circular glasses and with thinning dark grey-brown hair. They seemed to be in some kind of coffee shop, with the man behind the counter, Akira and the girl seated at bar stools in front of it, and Morgana once again sat on Akira’s shoulder. Akechi felt a pang of wistfulness in his chest – one photo for friends, and one for family, he assumed.

“Sorry about that.” Akira was suddenly beside him, wheeling a tall trolley stacked with various drawers and parking it just next to the chair, before he seemed to notice that Akechi’s attention was elsewhere. “Oh, heh, those are some friends of mine. And uh…my family.” He said, though he sounded sheepish. Akechi noticed he was blushing, and decided not to comment.

“That explains the excellent standard of coffee.” Akechi offered instead.

Akira nodded. “Sojiro taught me everything I know about brewing coffee. I’ll be sure to pass on the positive feedback.” He said, with a wink towards Akechi. The strangely proud tone of his voice was almost cute.

Akira undid the strange wrappings on Akechi’s head and began combing through his hair again, then took out a pair of scissors and some large hairclips and set to work – humming to himself as he carefully measured out the length of Akechi’s hair with his fingers, partitioned it and clipped it back, then snipped small strands away; comb, clip, cut, comb, clip, cut, in a steady cycle. Akechi watched him for a while, fascinated by his quick but precise movements and captivated by the intense look of concentration on his face; how his eyes burned with focus and his tongue stuck out slightly between his lips, completely engrossed in his work. Akechi kept as still as possible, only moving when Akira instructed – tip his head slightly down or up, look to one side, and so on – and stroking Morgana while he looked at the photographs again. Something about Akira’s smile in the photos had caught his eye – they were radiantly gleeful, wide unguarded grins, almost wolfish. There was no restraint in how much of his happiness he displayed, no suppression of the childlike merriment sparkling in his grey eyes…

“You don’t much resemble your father.” He suddenly commented, and he saw Akira pause for a second, frowning in confusion.

“Huh?” He followed Akechi’s gaze to the photo, before a look of realisation dawned upon him. “Ah, right. Well, Sojiro isn’t actually my dad. More…adoptive dad? Kind of?” He said, shrugging.

Akechi frowned. “Your parents…?”

“Oh, they’re fine. I still speak to them sometimes.” He said, in a casual kind of way. “I just don’t live with them. Prefer it out here.” He said simply, as if that were the only explanation needed. In a way, Akechi supposed it was. It was a surprisingly personal thing to share with someone, especially someone he’d only just met, so to expect more felt a little selfish.

“My apologies, that was quite rude of me. I was merely curious.” Akechi said, gaze dropping to the floor.

“That’s a good trait for a detective to have, I imagine.” Akira said, grinning, totally unfazed.

“Yes, well…still, I shouldn’t have pried. You’re hardly a suspect in an interrogation.”

“Well, not yet.” Akira said calmly, before catching sight of Akechi’s aghast expression and laughing. “Joking, joking.” He said, with that same toothy grin as in the photo. “It’s fine, I don’t mind answering questions about myself. Though I’m probably quite boring compared to you, Mr. Detective Prince.”

Akechi was the one laughing now, though it sounded considerably more forced than Akira’s. “You’d be surprised.” He chuckled. It was amusing – or at least, he tried to find it amusing rather than find it pathetic – that he complained about the complacency of interviews, how people asked him the same questions over and over again, but really, what could he say beyond his rehearsed answers anyway? There would be nothing to say about the other aspects of his life, because his Detective Prince identity _was_ his life. If an interviewer were to ever ask him about what he did in his free time or about his upbringing or his family there would be barely enough material to fill whatever ten-minute segment his interview was for. Peel away the frills and the regality and what was left? Just some broken little thing vaguely put together in the shape of a person and all dressed up for the cameras.

Ah, that was more like it. He had plenty of things to talk about but he kept it all inside, swirling around inside his heart like a storm – so many words left unspoken. But maybe that was better. Somehow it had leaked a year or so ago that he’d been orphaned at an early age and it had been nearly unbearable when that was front page news. The sad simpering faces of audiences; the fans weeping about the oh-so-terrible-injustice he’d suffered; the suffocating, cloying feeling of pity everywhere he turned, in everyone’s eyes and everyone’s words and everyone’s gestures, making hot bile rise in his throat and choke him and his fists clenched to stop him clawing his eyes out…

His laughter trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. Morgana stopped purring, looking up at Akechi questioningly.

Akira was watching him with an unreadable expression. “Are you alright?” He asked, his tone calm.

Akechi suddenly became aware of where he was. “Oh…gosh, yes, sorry…” The words came out raspy, and he fought to regain his usual softly-spoken tone, eyes stinging. “Yes, thank you, I’m…I’m fine. My apologies.” He gabbled, resuming stroking Morgana and feeling the rumble of his purr calm him down a bit.

Akira narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Akechi didn’t meet his gaze, and Akira resumed trimming. His movements seemed slower, taking his time about everything, his scissors steadily snipping through Akechi’s chestnut locks in precise, deliberate motions. After a while, he tucked the clips and scissors back into the trolley and pulled out a hairdryer from another of the trolley’s compartments.

Heat and noise blasted around Akechi’s ears as Akira began drying his hair, once again gently combing his fingers through the full length of Akechi’s locks to dry them out. As they fell back around Akechi’s face, his hair felt wonderfully soft, fluffy and light, edged by a faint blue aura in the dim light. He studied his appearance in the mirror – of course, he didn’t look exactly like he had in that interview, given how he’d aged since then, but differences were negligible – his shaggy hair was silky smooth and made him look suitably youthful and trendy, as befitting of a charismatic ace detective.

Akira held up a smaller mirror so he could see the back of his head, which he thought looked fine as well, neatly brushed and perfectly acceptable. Not many people would really be looking there though – he flashed his best ‘television smile’ at his reflection as a test of how his hairstyle suited his expression. A stranger’s sugary-sweet face beamed back at him eyes sparkling – he resisted the urge to vomit at how unnatural his expression looked to him, twisted and contorted into the hollow mask of a perfect poster child. All that was missing was the cartoon twinkle on his pearly white teeth. But he supposed it was a pleasant enough look for other people to take in – better than the ugly alternative of showing anyone his true self. The difference in his hair length was hardly drastic enough to cause any controversy, even among his most – well, he wanted to say ‘disturbed’ but – _passionate_ fans, but Akechi at least thought it vaguely suited him. Which, considering his rather low opinion of himself and by extension his appearance, was as close to a compliment as he could hope to give.

“I think you look cute.” Akira said, as casually as anything, and Akechi nearly fell off his chair.

Just about holding onto a shred of composure while internally screaming, he cleared his throat. “Oh? Well…thank you…” He shifted in his seat awkwardly. “That’s very…kind of you.” He blinked a couple of times, feeling his face flush. Akira just smiled at him. Even Morgana seemed to be looking at him knowingly, which only made things worse. Why was he so hot all of a sudden? At this point he was craving the freezing air of outside just to sap the colour from his reddening cheeks. “Uh…um…yes, well, uh…are you…finished now?” He wasn’t sure what Akira was waiting for.

“Just one more thing, then we’ll be done.” Akira said, his tone soft. He tucked the small mirror away before leaning down over Akechi’s shoulder, so that his breath tickled Akechi’s ear. That really didn’t help his unfortunate situation of feeling like he was on fire – he saw in the mirror that his ears were tinged the same pink as his cheeks. “Assuming _you_ think it all looks okay? Your opinion matters more than mine.” Once again, Akechi could only nod numbly.

Akira drew himself up again with a satisfied expression. “Why thank you, I’m glad you like it.” His expression turned a little more serious. “Now, I’m just going to finish off with a quick scalp massage. That’s going to involve my fingers – ” He waggled them dramatically in demonstration, just above Akechi’s shoulders, sending strange tingles shooting down his back at the phantom sensation. “ – going in your hair again. I hope that’s alright?” His voice was completely calm, his tone seeming like it was one of genuine interest and concern. Akechi wasn’t really sure how to feel about that. Sensing his uncertainty, Akira continued. “Of course, if you’d rather not, we can wrap up right now – it’s totally optional. But I find that it’s a good way to finish up – helps you leave in a better mood, decreases your stress levels, any anxieties, that kind of thing.” Akechi suppressed a disbelieving snort. Chance would be a fine thing. Akira continued. “Plus it helps to promote hair growth. I mean, you can do it yourself at home, but I find it’s nicer if someone else does it – hmm, something about our fingertips being too sensitive to really get the relaxing benefits – ah, I won’t bore you with that. So, what do you think?” His grey eyes glistened with an endearing sense of honest earnestness that was hard for Akechi to resist, as cynical and bitter as he was.

He took a deep breath, tilting his head as if he were deep in thought. “Is this similar to the…hair washing experience earlier?”

“Basically! But you won’t be woken up by a loud hairdryer.” Akira said, and once again he chuckled at Akechi’s expression. “Hey, I’ve had people fall asleep before. It’s pretty relaxing, what can I say?” Again with that smug tone, bordering on boastful. It almost reminded Akechi of himself, turning the most mundane things into some kind of competition, usually against himself.

He furrowed his brow as if he were considering a weighty decision, before shrugging. “Sure, I don’t see why not.” He settled comfortably back in his chair and met Akira’s eyes expectantly. He wasn’t sure why that simple action had the feeling of declaring a challenge – maybe it was because Akira did genuinely seem similar to Akechi, just younger, less cold and closed off. Or he was just reading far too deeply into things. The latter seemed more likely.

Akira’s grey eyes had a determined glint about them as he set to work, digging his hands into Akechi’s hair again. This time, Akechi resolved to watch Akira’s reflection in the mirror to see what he was doing more easily.

Akira started with feather-light touches against Akechi’s forehead, before running his hands back down Akechi’s hair, dragging his nails against Akechi’s scalp with increasing pressure – Akechi had expected to find it uncomfortable but it was surprisingly relaxing; the slow movements combined with the touches against his skin were already working some kind of strange magic on him. With the same gentle but steady level of pressure, Akira began to rub small circles with the tips of his fingers, and then began the steady scritching again – this time the movements were reversed, beginning from the bottom of Akechi’s hairline and travelling forward to his crown. Even just watching Akira was hypnotising, never mind the touches that made Akechi’s skin tingle, making him feel delightfully warm and numb inside. He caught sight of himself with half-lidded eyes and a drowsy-looking expression in the mirror and prayed to any god that would listen that he hadn’t looked like that long enough for Akira to notice. The small smirk on the hairdresser’s face suggested otherwise, but he could hope.

Akira continued with the small circular motions, his fingers wandering all over Akechi’s scalp, rubbing at the front, back, then sides. Then he began drawing bunches of Akechi’s silky hair together – tugging, twisting and braiding them gently before releasing and lightly brushing his fingers through the gathered strands. It was the part where Akira kneaded at the sensitive spots just behind Akechi’s ears that Akechi found himself teetering dangerously close to succumbing to the intoxicating feeling of those heavenly touches; a maelstrom of dizziness and craving and weightlessness brewing in his chest as the tension in his muscles seeped out like blood from a wound, the tangled threads of stress and anxiety coiled around him beginning to loosen and fall away. He caught himself just before he slipped into unconsciousness, mentally cursing and chastising himself – the threads tightened their hold and tugged him back into a state of wakefulness. Akira’s hands left his hair and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft piano backtrack, as they both just looked at the other in silence.

Akira was the first to speak. “How was that?”

Akechi paused for a long time. “…Very nice.” Another pause. “Thank you.”

Akira beamed – that same wide and wild grin from the photo. “Just doing my job.” The smile shifted to a slight smirk. “Can I expect a glowing review of the hairdressing in addition to the coffee?”

Akechi laughed. The laughter took over his face – nose wrinkled in an undignified snort and his eyes scrunched so he couldn’t see his toothy smile gleaming in the mirror.

“Oh, I should think so. And perhaps you can expect a repeat customer too.”

**Author's Note:**

> side note: used akira rather than ren in this fic because it started as just a dumb au thing. no real preference on names tho lol
> 
> and yeah the salon is just based on the thieves den oops


End file.
